The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis
Chapter 62: Regrets and Mistakes

Chapter 62: Regrets and Mistakes

The Crown Prince’s manor, though quieter than the main palace, still held the echoes of celebration. Lanterns cast honey-gold light across the lacquered floors, and the scent of chrysanthemum incense curled lazily through the halls. Servants moved like shadows; their heads bowed low, keen to avoid the storm brewing in the west wing.

Zhao Meiling’s scream shattered the peace like a clay bowl dashed against stone.

"Get out!" she shrieked, voice raw with fury as she hurled an inkstone toward the door. It struck the wooden panel and shattered, black liquid spraying everywhere like blood. "I said, get out!"

The maid dropped to her knees, her forehead pressed against the floor as she trembled. "Yes, Young Miss—this servant begs forgiveness—"

"Out!" Zhao Meiling roared again, her hair half-fallen from its pins, silk sleeves stained with wine and tears. Her face was blotched with red, her lip bitten raw. The embroidery on her robes had begun to unravel where her nails clawed at the hem in frustration.

Only when the maid scrambled away did Zhao Meiling stagger backward, breathing hard. However, she didn’t account for the table behind her. The low desk near the window toppled with a crash, scattering fruits and porcelain across the floor. She stepped over them, pacing like a caged animal, one hand clenching the edge of her sleeve.

She had lost. Not to circumstance. Not to fate. But to her.

Zhao Xinying.

The name burned behind her eyes.

She had set the trap, but Zhao Xinying seemed to have known. And instead of falling into it like a proper, disgraced bride-to-be, she had turned it around. She’d watched—she must have watched—as Zhao Meiling lost everything.

Zhao Meiling kicked the screen panel nearest her and let out a furious, wordless cry.

And that was when the door opened.

Not with urgency. Not with fear. Just a calm, deliberate push and the soft, controlled footfall of silk shoes against the polished wood.

Zhao Xinying stepped into the chamber with her usual composure, her outer robe dark as the pine shadows outside, embroidered with threads that caught the light like dew. Not a single hair was out of place. Not a single drop of wine marred her sleeve.

She might as well have just stepped out of a painting.

"My, my," she said gently, eyeing the chaos around her. "What an impressive display. Did the Third Prince propose again, and you were simply overcome with joy?"

"You—" Zhao Meiling spun, eyes flashing with hatred. "You dare show your face here? After what you did?"

Zhao Xinying tilted her head slightly, her expression mild. "What I did? That’s an interesting way to phrase it. If I recall correctly, it was your little servant who brought the wine, wasn’t it? And you who convinced Lady Zhao to raise a scandal in front of the entire court?"

Zhao Meiling’s hands trembled at her sides. "You ruined me! You tricked me into that room—drugged me like some lowborn whore—and then paraded me through the palace half-naked!"

Zhao Xinying’s voice was quiet, but it cut like glass. "You plotted to destroy me. Did you think I would just sit there and smile while you did it?"

The firelight caught the edge of her cheekbone, sharpening her features. "No, dear sister. That’s not how the real world works."

"The position beside the Crown Prince belongs to me!" Zhao Meiling screamed. "You think just because you’re quiet and demure and play the perfect little shadow, you can steal what’s mine? I was born for this. You’re nothing but a cursed wretch—an unwanted daughter with foreign eyes!"

Zhao Xinying took one step forward, her gaze cold now. "And yet... it’s you who’s on your knees in disgrace. It’s you who will be married off to the prince no one wanted. It’s you whose name will be laughed at behind every fan from now until the end of your days."

Zhao Meiling’s voice cracked. "I will get my place back. The Crown Princess title should be mine."

"Is that so?" purred Zhao Xinying, letting her fingertips graze the edge of an overturned tea bowl on the floor. "I don’t think you were listening earlier. But clearly, you have the memory of a goldfish, so allow me to repeat myself."

She leaned in slightly, her voice like silk drawn tight across steel. "I don’t give a shit about you."

The little sister gasped—partly at the words, partly at the sheer audacity of Xinying’s tone.

"But the moment you make yourself my problem," she continued, "you’re playing on my stage. And I won’t be nearly so merciful again."

"Merciful?" Meiling spat, voice shrill. "You call this merciful?! I didn’t want the Third Prince! You made us— You made me—"

"And yet, here you are." Xinying’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. "Alive. Breathing. Walking. Annoying me."

The silence lingered, tense and bitter.

Shaking her head, Xinying stepped closer, now standing just before the edge of the destruction. Broken porcelain and overturned cushions littered the ground between them. Her voice lowered to something almost gentle. "That was my mistake. One that I won’t make a second time."

Zhao Meiling’s mouth opened. Closed. Then she lunged forward, hands raised—but a shadow flickered at the doorway, and she stopped herself just in time.

Shi Yaozu was watching.

Of course, he was. He was always watching.

Breathing hard, Zhao Meiling slowly lowered her hands. "He’ll never love you, you know," she spat. "You think because you won tonight, you’re anything more than a placeholder? But I know the Crown Prince. I’ve studied him for years. You’re just a convenience."

Xinying smiled faintly as she retreated to the door. "Good. I wouldn’t want him to fall in love too easily." Pausing for a second, her gaze caught on a shard of broken porcelain at her feet.

"I don’t care if he loves me," she continued quietly, as if sharing a secret. "Love’s never been a useful currency in any place, in any time. But fear? Respect? Position?"

She lifted her eyes and looked over her shoulder at her little sister. "That’s something I know how to keep."

And then she left as quietly as she came.

Zhao Meiling, in return, sank to the floor in the ruins of her own fury, an unknown feeling of panic overwhelming her.